The Tempest
by Elioclya
Summary: I've rewritten it in story form, from Ferdinand's point of view... let me know how I've done! ;-)
1. Default Chapter

It's a darn good thing my sister Claribel married the King of Tunis.  
  
Well, for me anyway.  
  
Of course it always seemed it in the first place – grand connections and all that - but when the tempest got us, I think most of us cursed the connection. I know I did. My sister had run off to Africa and our father had died as a consequence – and I was supposed to be glad that we – well, I really - had connections?!  
  
We were sailing along nice and smoothly, all still in a good mood from the festivities, and all of a sudden a storm just rose up, seemingly out of nowhere. We were all on deck, trying (unsuccessfully) to hearten each other – I remember the boatswain telling us,  
  
"Give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap."  
  
It didn't sound that great to me, but Gonzalo seemed pretty cheerful all in all – then again, he's never really been the sort of chap to just give up, he's pretty much just an all-round good guy. Everyone else got a bit ratty and nasty, the boatswain got really annoyed with Sebastian and Antonio for going out on deck and not helping, so they laid on the insults thick and fast.  
  
"A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog," I heard from where I was standing in the cabin.  
  
There wasn't much more time for insults though; it wasn't long before all of us were in the water (which fortunately wasn't overly cold due to the temperatures thereabouts), and that was the point where everything really started getting out of hand. 


	2. Goddess of the Island

I was washed up on the beach a while later, alone and worrying about the rest of my shipmates, particularly my father. Then I heard some music – I suppose that's what it was, although it seemed so unreal that it doesn't seem like quite the right word – and it just made my fears into reality. I can't remember the words, they hurt too much and were too spooky, but they were about my father.  
  
"This ditty does remember my father. This is no mortal business, nor no sounds that the earth owes. I hear it now above me." There was something bewitching about the sounds, and I followed them up – perhaps had I stopped to think I wouldn't have, but I was so upset that I didn't have any common sense left, I just went.  
  
It was like climbing up to a temple, the island was so beautiful and mysterious, and the music seemed to come from some other world, so when I reached the flat space at the top of the hill, it was hardly surprising that I thought the beautiful girl I saw there to be a goddess. The music was quite bewitching enough, but the vision in front of me made any sense I had left vanish immediately. Now I look back I cringe at what I said, but it made little or no difference in the end.  
  
"Most sure the goddess on whom these airs attend. Vouchsafe my prayer may know if you remain upon this island, and that you will some good instruction give how I may bear me here. My prime request, which I do last pronounce, is – O you wonder – if you be a maid, or no?"  
  
She blushed and smiled; I was lost already.  
  
"No wonder, sir, but certainly a maid."  
  
"My language? Heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, were I but where 'tis spoken."  
  
I was so much under the lady's spell that I had not yet noticed the man lurking behind her.  
  
He spoke now, and I vaguely noticed his air of power and control.  
  
"How the best? What wert thou if the King of Naples heard thee?" That brought me back to some sort of sense. It suddenly hit me that if, as it seemed, my father really were dead, the King of Naples was me! But all the court must have died... it was so horrible to think about. I answered as best as I could, telling him that my father had drowned. The man didn't seem to believe me though. Well, I suppose there was no reason why he should. But the girl seemed to take it as the truth, and, still completely spellbound, I turned to her again.  
  
"O, if a virgin, and your affection not gone forth, I'll make you the Queen of Naples." But she didn't get a chance to answer, her father – I realised that the man must be that – interrupted and challenged me, accusing me of being a spy, and telling the girl that she should not speak to me. Then things started to get even stranger.  
  
"Come!" he ordered, "I'll manacle they neck and feet together; sea water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be the fresh-brook mussels, withered roots, and husks wherein the acorn cradled. Follow."  
  
I was King of Naples, who did this man think he was?  
  
"No! I will resist such entertainment, till mine enemy has more power." Then I drew my sword and went to attack him, but I found that all of a sudden I could not move; the man's gaze held me fast and I was stuck there. Then the girl stepped in and begged him to be kind to me, but her father seemed shocked at her behaviour.  
  
"What, I say, my foot my tutor? Silence! One more word shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee." I was pretty shocked at the way he spoke to her, but then again I supposed my father used to speak to Claribel a bit like that, she was always a bit of a rebel, or as much as she could be as princess of Naples without causing chaos. I hoped – well, still do – that I wouldn't be like that with any daughters I might have. But my thoughts were cut short by what he said next, it confused me. "Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, having seen but him and Caliban -" I noticed she flinched at the name – "Foolish wench, to th'most of men this is a Caliban, and they to him are angels."  
  
"My affections are then most humble. I have no ambition to see a goodlier man." Wow, I thought, has she been locked away all her life? And who was this Caliban I was supposed to be like? Would I meet him? But all my thoughts kept returning to the girl, I didn't even know her name, but somehow everything else seemed meaningless in front of her.  
  
"My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, the wrack of all my friends, nor this man's threats, to whom I am subdued, are but light to me, might I but through my prison once a day behold this maid. All corners else o'th'earth let liberty make use of; space enough have I in such a prison." It really did seem like that, heartless though it sounds in respect to my father and court. But the man called me away again, not answering my speech. The girl spoke to me quietly.  
  
"Be of comfort; my father's of a better nature, sir, than he appears by speech. This is unwonted which now came from him." Be that as it may, he's still making me go somewhere, I thought, trying to smile at her as I followed him, gritting my teeth when he told her again not to speak for me. 


	3. Working for Love

He made me work. He made me drag logs to and fro, but I actually didn't care. The girl made it all worthwhile, and I didn't care how cheesy it sounded either. But the only problem was, I kept slipping into thought and not working.  
  
"There be some sports are painful, and their labour delight in them sets off. Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone; and most poor matters point to rich ends. This my mean task would be as heavy to me as odious, but the mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, and makes my labours pleasures. O, she is ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed – and he's composed of harshness. I must remove some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, upon a sore injunction. My sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness had never like executor. I forget. But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, most busy, least when I do it."  
  
But she came over just as I started to work again.  
  
"Alas, now pray you work not so hard. I would that the lightning had burnt up those logs that you are enjoined to pile. Pray set it down, and rest you. When this burns 'twill weep for having wearied you. My father is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself – he's safe for these three hours." She was so sweet and simple, but I had to do the work, and when she offered to do it for me I couldn't stand it.  
  
"No, precious creature, I'd rather crack my sinews, break my bag, than you should such dishonour undergo, while I sit lazy by." She kept offering, and making worried comments about how tired I looked, but I brushed it off – technically I was tired, but I didn't feel it as long as she stood by me. I finally found out her name, although she seemed upset that by doing so she was breaking her word to her father. Miranda. It was a perfect name, and she was so much more perfect than any other woman I had ever known. I told her so.  
  
"I do not know one of my sex," she replied, "No woman's face remember, save from my glass, mine own. Nor have I seen more that I may call men than you, good friend, and my dear father. How features are abroad I am skilless of; but by my modesty, the jewel in my dower, I would not wish any companion in the world but you; nor can imagination form a shape besides yourself, to like of."  
  
It was strange to think of how different our lives had been; she'd been isolated all her life while I'd been in the public eye; while my eye had wandered from woman to woman hers had been restrained by necessity, although I could hardly imagine her being anything else in any other situation, she was so sweet and pure.  
  
Then came the question, and the answer seemed so obvious to me I could hardly believe she asked it.  
  
"Do you love me?" she said timidly.  
  
"O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, and crown what I profess with kind event if I speak true; if hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief. I, beyond all limit of what else i'th'world, do love, prize, honour you." To my horror, the effect of my profession of love was that its object burst into tears.  
  
"I am a fool to weep at what I'm glad of," she said, wiping her eyes.  
  
"Wherefore weep you?" I asked anxiously.  
  
"At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer what I desire to give, and much less take what I shall die to want. But I am your wife, if you will marry me; if not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow you may deny me, but I'll be your servant whether you will or no."  
  
I knelt before her, filled with an incredible kind of joy.  
  
"My mistress, dearest, and I thus humble ever." I meant it. For her... anything.  
  
"My husband then?" she asked, seemingly unable to believe it.  
  
"Aye, with a heart as willing as bondage e'er of freedom. Here's my hand."  
  
"And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewell till half an hour hence." She smiled gently and turned, walking away.  
  
"A thousand thousand," I said softly.  
  
I watched her go, then wandered off on my own, my head and heart both full to bursting point. So much had happened in, what, a few hours? One minute I was happier than I'd ever been in my life, the next I was thoroughly miserable and filled with feelings of guilt for concentrating all my thoughts on Miranda and not my father. But I couldn't help it. There was something almost magical about her. It struck me briefly that if we could never marry, I didn't think I'd be able to bear destroying her honour, even in the remote place that this island seemed to be. I hoped her father would chill a bit; he was so harsh! 


	4. Explanations and Promises

Not much later, he brought Miranda to me and explained his behaviour.  
  
"If I have too austerely punished you," he began, "Your compensation makes amends, for I have given you here a third of mine own life, or that for which I live, who once again I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations were but my trials of thy love, and thou hast strangely stood the test. Here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift." What he said touched me; I wondered if the other thirds might be himself and his wife, though I knew nothing about her and, as far as I could tell, nor did Miranda; I wondered at how he had been willing to risk the loss of a rich son-in-law to make sure that the love was real; I couldn't help smiling as I realised that I had passed the test, and that it seemed certain that I had won the prize. "O Ferdinand, do not smile at me, that I boast her of, for thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her."  
  
"I do believe it against an oracle," I said fervently, and how could I doubt anything of her?  
  
"Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition worthily purchased, take my daughter. But if thou dost break her virgin-knot before all sanctimonious ceremonies may with full and holy rite be ministered, no sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall to make this contract grow; but barren hate, sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew the union of your bed with weeds so loathly that you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed, as Hymen's lamps shall light you."  
  
Despite my thoughts of earlier, the tone in which Prospero – for that was his name – delivered this made me shiver in a kind of awed fear; it sounded as if he knew ways in which to make what he said come true, and that kind of power terrified me. But I didn't want to look like a coward – who would? – and anyway I'd already determined that it wouldn't happen, so I swallowed and replied,  
  
"As I hope for quiet days, fair issue, and long life, with such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, the most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion, our worser genius can, shall never melt mine honour into lust, to take away the edge of that day's celebration, when I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are foundered, or night kept chained below." Prospero nodded approvingly, and told me to sit and talk to Miranda – "Thine own" he said! I sat and I put my arm around her, and we spoke quietly.  
  
Then a strange creature appeared, beautiful and mysterious like the music that had brought me to Miranda, and it seemed that it – Ariel - was in Prospero's power, addressing him as master. But soon it had gone; Prospero turned back to us and glared at me, warning me off his daughter again. I protested, but nevertheless let my arm fall.  
  
And then things just got stranger, but the visions that appeared before us were so wonderful that at the time I could hardly even begin to consider the strangeness of the situation. There in front of us, one by one, came three goddesses; Iris, the messenger, the rainbow; Ceres, goddess of the earth and of the harvest; and finally Juno, queen of the gods, goddess of riches, of the air, and also of marriage. To my amazement they spoke of Miranda and myself; they blessed us and praised our restraint. I was completely overwhelmed, but I had just enough wits to think that perhaps this was something to do with the man who stood near by.  
  
"This is a most majestic vision, and harmonious charmingly. May I be bold to think these spirits?"  
  
"Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines called to enact my present fancies." It seemed my suspicions were correct; Prospero had magic beyond any I had seen in my life. I was completely in awe of him.  
  
"Let me live here for ever; so rare a wondered father and a wife, makes this place paradise." But he told me to be quiet; the goddesses were whispering to each other. Iris called out for a celebration, and many nymphs and reapers appeared and began to dance in front of us. It was an incredible sight; they moved so gracefully. But they did not finish their dance; Prospero, seeming to remember something, something not at all pleasant by the looks of him, called out for them to end their dance, at which they all vanished, although the expressions of their faces implied that they wanted to stay.  
  
"This is strange," I whispered to Miranda, frowning, "Your father's in some passion that works him strongly." Miranda looked worried as she watched him, but then he turned to us. He began to speak, slowly, thoughtfully, almost sadly – certainly wistfully.  
  
"You do look, my son, in a moved sort, as if you were dismayed. Be cheerful, sir, our revels now are ended; these our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air; and like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, and like this insubstantial pageant faded leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vexed, bear with my weakness, my old brain is troubled. Be not disturbed with my infirmity. If you be pleased, retire into my cell, and there repose. A turn or two I'll walk to still my beating mind."  
  
He turned away, and it was clear that this was a dismissal. Glancing at each other, Miranda and I turned towards the cave together. 


	5. The End

His speech stayed with me. It made our lives seem so insignificant. Looked at that way, that was exactly what they were. It seemed a hopeless idea, and it was no wonder that Prospero was so downcast if those were the thoughts spinning round his head. But I tried to push them from my own mind – I had a beautiful fiancée to get to know. We went and sat in the cave and began a game of chess, complete with happy banter.  
  
"Sweet lord," she laughed, "You play me false."  
  
"No, my dearest love, I would not for the world," I smiled, taking her hand.  
  
"Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, and I would call it fair play."  
  
"If this prove a vision of the island, one dear son shall I twice lose." The voice interrupted our play, and I looked up, my heart in my mouth so to speak – I recognised the voice, and it was my father's. I couldn't believe it. I was speechless at first, but then I found my own voice.  
  
"Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; I've cursed them without cause."  
  
I knelt in front of my father, truly happy now – my father and all his best lords were alive, brought there it seemed by Prospero.  
  
"Now all the blessings of a glad father compass thee about. Arise, and say how thou cam'st here." Before I could answer though, Miranda exclaimed in amazement – I realised what a sight this must be for her, only ever having seen three men.  
  
"O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is" O brave new world that has such people in't."  
  
"'Tis new to thee," Prospero smiled indulgently.  
  
"What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?" asked my father, frowning slightly. "Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours. Is she the goddess that hath severed us, and brought us thus together?" I smiled; it was almost exactly what I had thought at first.  
  
"Sir, she is mortal; but my immortal providence she's mine. I chose her when I could not ask my father for his advice, nor thought I had one. She is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan -" for Miranda had told me their story – when she was only a baby she and her father, Duke of Milan, were put to sea in a boat, so that his brother might become Duke in his place, which was how they had come to the island "- of whom so often I have heard renown, but never saw before; of whom I have received a second life; and second father this lady makes him to me."  
  
"I am hers. But O, how oddly will it sound, that I must ask my child forgiveness!" But Prospero raised his hand.  
  
"There, sir, stop. Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone." Instead, Gonzalo stepped forward and blessed us, his eyes filled with tears of happiness – he was the one who had given Prospero his books when he was pushed from the shore. Smiling at Miranda and myself, my father took our hands.  
  
"Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that doth not wish you joy."  
  
And then more of the boat's company appeared – the Master and the Boatswain, led by Ariel and looking very much confused. But they were happy to see us, and told us that the ship which had seemed to be split in two was in fine condition. Watching Ariel and Prospero, I realised this was the strange creature's doing.  
  
"Come hither, spirit," ordered Prospero, "Set Caliban and his companions free: untie the spell." I wondered suddenly if now I would finally meet Caliban; he intrigued me.  
  
A few moments later three figures appeared; two I knew to be Stephano and Trinculo, the court jester and butler, but the third was not only someone I didn't know, but someone of whom I'd never seen the like – he seemed almost deformed, almost like a fish, and I didn't know whether I should pity him or be disgusted by him, I knew so little about him, but I noticed Miranda's reaction – she flinched as if in pain. I would have to ask her about it later, there was clearly something there I should know about, but right now it wasn't the time.  
  
"Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, then say if they be true. This misshapen knave, his mother was a witch, and one so strong that could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, and deal in her command, without her power. These three have robbed me, and this demi-devil – for he's a bastard one – had plotted with them to take my life. Two of these fellows you must know and own; this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine." I wondered what he meant by that.  
  
Stephano and Trinculo were clearly off their heads, drunk as anything; maybe I would have been understanding towards them, thinking they had been miserable over the deaths of their king and companions, but from the talk that passed between them, Prospero and my father I gathered that they had been plotting to overthrow my father-in-law, with the help of the creature Caliban. All three, however, seemed sorry for what they'd done, and headed off to return the clothing they had stolen from Prospero. Then my father and Prospero turned to each other, and it was decided that all of us would stay the night in his cave, before heading the next morning to Naples, with Miranda and Prospero aboard, to celebrate our wedding. What a thought! And then Prospero set Ariel free.  
  
Taking Miranda's hand, I smiled at her, and with the rest of the company we going into the cave, leaving Prospero to his musings outside.  
  
Oh yes, it's a darn good thing my sister Claribel married the King of Tunis. 


End file.
